Violence can be fun.

5 Feb

No one told me I’d be needing flippers and a snorkel to leave my apartment today. Someone fire up the power tools: we’re in need of an ark. According to Jennifer Lopez on the ever-trusty Weather Channel, we’re seriously in for 40 days and 40 nights of relentless rain. It literally rained non-stop all day long today. My sneakers are not dry by any means. For the first time in a good eight years, I was forced to use an umbrella, which by the way, is not meant for me. I feel that I am lacking some sort of skill humans need to operate an umbrella. That skill is not a skill at all, but instead a portion of my brain, most likely.

I keep having extraordinarily violent dreams lately. Last night I dreamed that I was back in high school, and the student body was split into two “gangs.” These two separate groups of students were going to be having a huge fight on prom night and beat each other’s asses. Richard and I were on the same team. I find myself in the bathroom plotting our M.O. with Jamie, when suddenly Richard enters with a bloody ass mouth. I ask him what the fuck happened? The fight hasn’t even started yet. He tells me that to prepare, he hit himself in the mouth with a can of soup.

Makes sense.

Sometimes I can’t stop myself from watching shitty television. I make fun of The Hills probably more than I make fun of kids with mental handicaps, but if I’m flipping through the channels and it’s on, I have to watch. It’s like I’m helpless. I’m always distraught that I “have to” watch the episode, too. Getting stuck watching The Hills is like finding out you have a homework assignment. It’s disappointing, but it’s an obligation, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I get really scared when I’m donating plasma and I feel a sneeze coming on. I personally sneeze with the force of a charging locomotive, and my body jolts forward like I’m experiencing an electric shock. The noise alone could wake the dead. Imagine how many things could go wrong when that happens with a needle in your arm. That needle would be in my clavicle in a split second. Or it could go the other way, and I could shoot the syringe straight out of my vein like a bow and arrow, squirting blood all over the place and bleeding to death. I like to think I can avoid this ever happening. We’ll see.

If I ever have the chance, I would like to attack a sexual predator or an intruder with a nail-gun. That would be the ultimate. Stabbing a criminal or macing the shit out of him might be exhilirating, but nothing would ever compare to nail-gunning the son of a bitch like a two-by-four. Bring it on, bandits.

Me: “I’m off to the gym. Hopefully I don’t get raped on the way.”
Kehly: “Got your rape whistle?”
Me: “No.”
Kehly: “Got any mace?”
Me: “No.”
Kehly: “You’re all set!”


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